


Dread

by SlackerEmeritus



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Gen, but it never sticks, it's League somebody probably dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 10:46:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6981208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlackerEmeritus/pseuds/SlackerEmeritus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are things even the thing under the bed fears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dread

Thresh was largely numb to his emotions after all his time in the Shadow Isles. He felt little any more but the stirrings of amusement and pleasure that came when he saw his victims break, when he added another soul to the throng trapped in his lantern. These were things he enjoyed and, however briefly, he felt that joy. He knew anger only occasionally. Things like sorrow and fear were distant, hazy spectres at best, hardly even memories. He feared little even in life. What had he, then, to fear in death?

So the cold itch along his spine when he first heard that creak and scuttle of dry wood, the scratch of straw on burlap, was so _alien_ that he stopped in confusion to puzzle at himself. It wasn't until Fiddlesticks caught him up and passed that Thresh understood. The very air around the scarecrow crawled with the sensation of nerves being scraped, with a feeling of dread Thresh couldn't quite comprehend. His lantern dimmed and he backed away, yielding the lane to his teammate. He tried not to think about the strange effect Fiddlesticks had on him as the match wore on. He wondered if the awful chill he felt when he heard the crows was anything like what his prisoners felt when they heard the rattle of his chains.

He immediately put that out of mind and refused to think about the Harbinger of Doom again once the match was over. It was something he'd learned in the Shadow Isles; dark things only held the power that others gave them. It rang true for his victims – not that he would ever admit it – and so too would it ring for him. He simply wouldn't give Fiddlesticks any such power over him.

Thresh never asked about the chamber where Fiddlesticks stood watch. He knew its purpose, oh yes; he could hear the screams lingering in the dim air near the door. The old ones were faint, some hardly louder than whispers; others were clear as bells, ringing from the walls as though the death-cries had only just sounded. For a moment, memories of his past lifetime flitting like will o' wisps through his mind, Thresh forgot why he ever thought Fiddlesticks worrisome. Fiddlesticks was nothing more than a glorified executioner, a hound of the Institute given a long leash. Thresh knew what to do with dogs.

All the same, he couldn't shake the creeping sense of dread when he saw Fiddlesticks summoned to the opposing team. It stayed in the back of his mind, a shadow in the flame, dulling the joy of dragging Shen back so that he tripped into Draven's whirling axes. The Noxian didn't share Thresh's wariness, laughing raucously as he added another kill to his tally.

"Good one!" Draven cheered, slapping him on the shoulder. "That pays for a little somethin' extra. Draven out."

"I'll wait," Thresh said with a hollow smile as his summoner relayed a message at the same time that the ward he'd set sounded back to him, image of Fiora flashing behind his eyes. Draven shrugged and vanished in the blue pillar of recall, trusting that Thresh wouldn't do anything stupid in his absence. Knowing Fiora was on her way to him through the woods, the warden fell back to his outer tower to wait, scythe spinning. Shortly enough, she appeared from the brush, feinting in with a thrust then dashing just beyond his reach to escape the tower, suffering a grazing shot for her troubles. He chuckled and shrugged at the deep gash torn in the shoulder of his coat. "Why don't you come out and play?" he jeered at her where she stood behind her minions. Shen would be back soon, he thought. So would Draven. But he could finish Fiora on his own. He left the shelter of his tower and she darted at him, ready to take advantage of his exposure. He flung his scythe, catching her at the knees and flinging her into the air to knock her back a few steps. "No, no! This way!" he cried, laughing. She hit the ground and he snatched her back, adding, "It's over when _I_ say."

"Such unrefined style," she hissed at him, dashing away his weapon, parrying a second swing. "You're too slow!" she snapped as a quick thrust left shimmering ectoplasm spilling from the new hole in his coat. Another, then another blow seemed to set him ablaze with green flames, essence venting from his wounds like smoke. He simply laughed again.

"Oh yes!" he murmured as he hooked her yet again and pulled her close, wrenching hard on her captured arm. "It's about to get much worse."

"You insolent peasant!" Fiora gasped. The rest of the insult died on her lips as she watched the ephemeral walls rise before her.

"My house," Thresh said, tightening his grip on the chain, " _my rules._ " She dug in her heels but he gave her one last, vicious yank. Brilliant red blossomed on her white jacket as she slammed into one iridescent barrier; it shattered and the world exploded in a burst of pain and blinding light. Fiora fell limp in the chains, dead. Thresh swept up her soul in his lantern and turned, staggered slowly back toward his tower to escape the casters flinging bolts at him, laughing all the while. What had he to fear, after all?

A sound like distant thunder echoed across the sky; the world turned so dark he couldn't see his tower, nor hear anything but his own gasps and his summoner shrieking in his head to keep running. How could he see where to go, he wondered. Not even the light of his lantern pierced the deep gloom. He felt his summoner pulling him, trying to steer him to safety. He stumbled, looking over his shoulder for his attacker and seeing nothing. Something cold and terrible seeped into him, numbing his limbs with a dread certainty of his own doom, and he tripped over his feet as his summoner's voice made his head ring with panic. For a moment – one terrifying moment – he thought he heard wood scraping on wood, rattling in an uneven gait, and he froze. The world was silence all around him.

Then he heard the crows.


End file.
